


Combustion

by Irelando



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, mild pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irelando/pseuds/Irelando
Summary: Combustion (n.)the process of burning.He puts the holopad down. “Your eye. What happened? Did someone hit you?”She blinks at him, one eyebrow slowly rising. “Yeah. But, I mean, I asked him to.”(for TheSarcasticNazgul as part of the May the 4th gift exchange!)





	Combustion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSarcasticNazgul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSarcasticNazgul/gifts).



> this was written for the Rebelcaptain Network's May the 4th gift exchange over on tumblr!

A week to the day after the destruction of the Death Star, Jyn shows up to lunch with a black eye. 

Cassian glances up from his holopad, then does a double-take that has Bodhi stifling a laugh. “Jyn? What happened?”

“Hm?”

He puts the holopad down. “Your eye. What happened? Did someone hit you?”

She blinks at him, one eyebrow slowly rising. “Yeah. But, I mean, I asked him to.”

Cassian’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”

His confusion is contagious; Bodhi’s pretty sure he knows what’s going on, but he’s starting to wonder. “You were sparring,” he says to Jyn, “Right?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “’Course. Antilles got lucky.” Her mouth curls slightly into a grin. “I’ll pay him back tomorrow, don’t you worry.”

“Sparring?” Cassian echoes. 

“Yes,” Jyn says, starting to look a little confused herself. “Like I do every morning.” 

“Since when?” he asks. “Jyn, you’ve only been here a week.”

She shrugs. “Why waste time? At first it was just with Chirrut, just to keep my skills up, but then Antilles and Verlaine caught us and wanted a go, too.”

“With you or with Chirrut?”

“Me, mostly,” she says. “I think they’re a little scared of Chirrut.”

Baze, a few seats down, snorts into his stew. 

“Probably has something to do with him beating a Jedi on a regular basis,” Bodhi points out. 

Jyn waves a hand. “Whatever. Anyway, they wanted to spar, and then the next day there were like four more pilots. It all kind of escalated from there.”

“So, you just… fight every pilot in the Resistance? Every morning?” Cassian asks.

“Not  _ every _ pilot,” Jyn says. “Only a dozen or so.”

“A dozen--? Jyn!”

“You Alliance types really need to work on your hand-to-hand,” Jyn continues blithely, “It’s kind of pathetic, really.”

“Have you sparred with Luke?” Bodhi asks curiously. 

“Not yet,” Jyn says. “I think Chirrut tuckers him out, honestly.”

“Wait, wait,” Cassian says. “I don’t—you fight a  _ dozen _ pilots?”

Jyn raises her eyebrows at him. “Not all at once. Why do you sound so surprised? It’s not like I’ve been trying to hide it.”

A faint flush starts to spread across Cassian’s cheeks. “There’s a lot going on.”

“And here I thought you were some hotshot super-spy,” she teases. “Look, if you’re so worried, come by one of these mornings. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two.”

“Maybe I will,” Cassian says. The tips of his ears are decidedly pink. Bodhi buries his face in his food; Cassian’s embarrassed enough without having Bodhi laugh at him, too. 

Slowly, Jyn smirks. “Good. I’m looking forward to it.”

\--

“I don’t know what you’re so concerned about,” Kay says, metal fingers tapping away on the U-wing’s console while Cassian checks the medical kit he’s stashing in one of the cargo compartments. “Sergeant Erso is more than capable of holding her own in a fight.”

Cassian sits back on his heels, flashing back to that first mission on Jedha. 

_ He hears Jyn grunt and turns, blaster flying up, eyes searching for white plastoid armor— _

_ And finds Jyn’s turned into a miniature whirlwind, her truncheon whipping back and forth, punctuated by the sharp, brutal  _ cracks _ of armor breaking under her strikes. Cassian blinks, blaster falling slowly back to his side.  _

He’s been trained in hand to hand – all Rebel agents have before they’re ever sent into the field. He’d even considered himself fairly skilled at it. But seeing Jyn fight… well, he understands how she can call their training ‘pathetic’. 

“Your heart rate has increased,” Kay notes, turning to look at him. “Are you in distress?”

Cassian can feel his face heating up, something that’s become frustratingly common since he woke up after Scarif. “I’m fine, Kay,” he says shortly, turning back to his work. 

“Now the surface temperature of your skin is rising,” Kay says. “Are you certain—“

“I said I’m  _ fine. _ ” Cassian continues sorting through the supplies, steadfastly ignoring the fact that Kay is still looking at him, eyes luminous in the dim interior of the ship. 

Finally, the droid turns back to his work. Cassian lets out a silent sigh of relief. 

Too soon, apparently. “You’ve been awfully illogical lately,” Kay says, and if Cassian didn’t know better, he’d say the droid sounded petulant. “Evidence would suggest it’s Jyn Erso’s fault.”

Cassian doesn’t look up, but he knows that tone. Kay’s not going to let this go without some kind of response, no matter how much Cassian absolutely does  _ not _ want to talk about it. “What’s your point?”

“I am concerned about the effect it might have on you in a combat situation,” Kay says. 

Cassian snorts. 

Kay turns around again. “If you’re distracted on a mission, the odds of success drop by as much as—“

“I don’t want to know,” Cassian interrupts.

Kay lets out a tinny little huff. “You never want to know anymore.”

Cassian sits back on his heels, barely managing to stifle a sigh. “Look, Kay. Can you just… Can we  _ please  _ talk about literally anything except Jyn?”

The droid studies him for a long moment. Cassian’s considering a few different exit strategies by the time Kay lets out a sigh. “Fine.”

“Thank you. How’s the nav computer looking?” Cassian asks, before Kay can change his mind. 

He sniffs. “Quite frankly, it’s garbage. I don’t know how Incom gets away with such shoddy workmanship.”

Cassian goes back to his sorting, listening with half an ear to Kaytoo espousing all the ways in which the U-wing’s computer fails to meet his already low expectations, and tries very hard to stop thinking about how  _ good _ Jyn looked beating the crap out of those Stormtroopers. 

\--

He doesn’t quite make it the next morning (it’s  _ astonishing _ , really, how many meetings it takes to hash out where the Rebellion is going to move next). The morning after that, though, he manages to duck a non-urgent summons from Draven long enough to track down Jyn’s impromptu fight club. 

He finds them in a room not far from the cantina that’s been hastily outfitted with mats on the floor and two of the walls. There’s a considerable crowd gathered inside; when Cassian comes through the door, he’s met with a solid mass of backs as the pilots jockey for position to watch the fight. 

Luckily, Cassian’s no stranger to moving through crowds. He slips around the side, nudging his way to the front of the mass. 

On the mat, Wedge and Jyn circle each other carefully. Jyn’s eyes are narrowed, her bruise faded to a dull purple-gray shadow. Wedge has a little smirk on his face, but he’s watching Jyn’s hands with an intensity that suggests his confidence is mostly just show. 

Cassian folds his arms, leans one shoulder against the wall, and settles in to watch. 

Wedge tries a feint. Jyn doesn’t even flinch. 

The crowd murmurs. Cassian’s pretty sure he can hear bets being made, which is definitely against Alliance regulations. He pretends he doesn’t notice. 

Jyn lunges. Wedge jumps out of the way, quick enough that Jyn staggers a little. The pilot’s eyes light up, and he goes for a grab, fingers closing on Jyn’s wrist. 

There’s a flurry of motion, and somehow Wedge hits the mat chest-first with a pained grunt. Jyn dusts off her hands, then offers one to him. “Best two out of three?”

He eyes it, then rolls over and accepts, letting her pull him to his feet. “You’re on.”

At ‘five out of nine’, Wedge admits defeat cheerfully enough, and limps off chattering with one of his Red Squadron buddies. Jyn, left temporarily alone on the mat, rolls one shoulder absently. Her eyes meet Cassian’s. She grins, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “You want a go?”

Cassian considers. He’s not particularly interested in getting his ass kicked in front of a crowd, but there’s something about her fighting style… Something niggling at the back of his brain. “I’m good with watching,” he says. 

She shrugs. “Suit yourself. Who’s next?”

As the rounds continue, Cassian starts to notice a weird heat building in his chest. He spends a few minutes puzzling over it before it suddenly clicks:

_ Am I jealous? _

He examines the thought, and comes to the reluctant conclusion that he is, a little bit. It’s not all that surprising. He’s been careful to give Jyn her space, cautious of accidentally scaring her away, but the memory of that first night in the medbay haunts him. 

_ The third time Jyn nearly falls out of her chair, Cassian’s had enough. “You know,” he says, a little groggy from the painkillers, “There’s room enough in this bed for two people.” _

_ She blinks blearily, a little disoriented, but that doesn’t stop her from eying the bed with a certain amount of suspicion. “You sure about that?” _

_ He nods. There’s not a lot of  _ extra _ room, but he’s (more than) okay with that. “Or there’s that one,” he adds reluctantly, indicating the second cot tucked against the opposite wall.  _

_ Jyn glances at it and wrinkles her nose. “Mm. Too far.” She looks back at him, a strange hesitation in her eyes. “You’re sure?” _

_ In answer, he scoots over closer to the wall. Carefully, she crawls onto the bed beside him. Cassian hesitates, tucked against the opposite side of the bed, unsure if it would be too forward to touch her.  _

_ They lie for a few minutes in silence. Then, with a huff, Jyn slides closer. Her back stays to him, but that’s okay. The warmth of her body along his arm and her leg brushing against his is almost too much as it is.  _

She’d been gone when he woke up the next morning, and hadn’t repeated it since. That hasn’t stopped his bed from feeling horribly empty every night for the past week, or him from missing her warmth, her presence. 

Watching her wrestle Verlaine down to the mat, is it any wonder he’s a little jealous of the contact?

By the time Jyn calls it quits near lunchtime, Cassian’s starting to develop a strategy. Jyn has an impeccable eye for weakness, he’s discovered; a single misstep is enough of an opening for her to take down any enemy, which she does with absolutely no hesitation. It makes her a brutal fighter, but at the same time, it’s an opening he can exploit. 

“Enjoy the show?” she asks as they walk towards the cantina. She’s practically glowing, sweat beading along her hairline, a satisfied little smile playing around her lips. 

Cassian gets a flash of what that might look like underneath him on a bed and nearly trips over his own feet. “Uh.” Her smile turns into a smirk, and he hastily continues, “Just be careful.”

“What, you don’t think I can take them?”

“That’s almost exactly the opposite of what I meant,” he says, and then it’s her turn to look startled. He smiles. “Try not to break any of our pilots. We need them.”

Jyn laughs. “I’m gonna get you on that mat eventually, Cassian Andor,” she declares. “Just you wait.”

_ It might be sooner than you think _ , he thinks, but all he says is, “Maybe.”

\--

“Chirrut told me you’re planning to fight Jyn Erso.”

Cassian starts, head hitting the underside of the U-wing with a hollow metal  _ dong _ . He curses under his breath, rubbing at his forehead, and squints at Kay where the droid is peering under the ship at him. “What?”

“Chirrut told me—“

“I heard you.” That’s the last time Cassian asks Chirrut for sparring advice. “What about it?”

“It is a bad idea,” Kay says. “Jyn Erso is skilled in hand-to-hand combat. Would you like to know the odds of you losing that fight?”

Cassian’s so startled that Kay actually  _ asked _ for once that he almost says yes. Almost. “Uh, no.”

Kay looks at him for a moment. “They’re high.”

Cassian groans. “Look. I have a plan, alright?”

“It had better be a good one,” Kay says. He pauses. “They’re very high.”

\--

“Just so you know,” Cassian says the next morning over breakfast, “Chirrut is a gossip.” 

“You’re surprised?” Jyn asks, her eyes sparkling with poorly-disguised amusement as she bites into a hunk of bread. “He likes stories.” She chews and swallows, then points at him with her remaining food. “Speaking of gossip. Word around the base is you think you can beat me.”

Cassian considers acting like he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but what can he say? She brings out his competitive side. She seems to do that to a lot of people. He shrugs, deliberately casual. “I think I have a decent shot.”

She narrows her eyes. “That so.”

He lets the side of his mouth curl into a smirk. “You’re good, don’t get me wrong. But you’re not as good as you think you are.”

She studies him for a long moment, the effect of which is somewhat ruined by the whopping bite of bread she takes in the middle. Finally, she swallows and says primly, “You have a cute nose, Andor. Don’t make me break it.”

“That sounds like a challenge, Sergeant Erso,” he says, grinning outright. 

She returns it. “That’s because it is. You gonna chicken out on me again?”

“Not this time.”

When they arrive at the room, there’s almost twice as many people as the day before. Cassian stops. “What the…?”

“Guess word got around,” Jyn says, and damn if she doesn’t look thoroughly amused by the whole thing. “Still game?”

If he backs out now, she’ll never let him live it down. And neither, by the looks of it, will half the base. He squares his shoulders and follows her through the crowd to the mat. 

Jyn kicks off her boots at the edge and sheds her jacket stepping barefoot onto the mat. “First to three?”

Cassian follows suit, shucking off his parka and leaving it piled on the ground. “Sounds good to me.”

The crowd’s chatter dulls to a murmur. If he were listening, Cassian’s sure he’d hear people betting on the outcome. He doesn’t listen, instead turning all of his attention on Jyn. 

They circle. Cassian watches Jyn’s feet, her hands, ready for any subtle signal that she’s about to move. 

She lunges. He skips back a step and pauses, expecting it to be a feint, just a test of his reflexes-- but she bulls forward undeterred. Her shoulder hits his gut with an audible, meaty  _ thud _ , and he goes down hard. 

When he manages to catch his breath again, Jyn’s standing over him with her finger and thumb cocked in an imitation of a blaster, aimed lazily at his head. “Bang. Point to me.” She holds out the same hand, and Cassian lets her pull him to his feet. 

“Enjoy it,” he tells her before letting go of her hand. “You won’t get another.”

She just grins and backs off to start circling again. 

His stomach aches sharply, the newly-healed muscles in his side complaining about this new insult. Cassian lets it show, favoring his side slightly. Jyn’s eyes flicker down to it. A line appears between her eyebrows, her mouth thinning with concern. She lunges again, this time a clear feint; Cassian dodges back, wincing. 

For a moment he thinks he’s oversold it. He can see the hesitation in her eyes, so he stiffens a little, hardening his stance. Her eyes flicker up to his, and he nods once. 

Then he charges. She goes down with a startled yelp. “That’s a tie,” Cassian says cheerfully. 

Jyn rolls over and sits up, pushing her hair out of her face. “That was a dirty trick,” she says.

“I am a spy,” he reminds her, and offers a hand. She shakes her head, but she takes it. 

He manages to take her down once more before she figures out what he’s doing. Then she turns it around on him, makes it look like she’s fully committed to an opening, only to do something complicated that results in him flipping entirely over her back and landing hard on the mat. 

Then it’s tied two to two, both of them breathing hard as they start circling again. Cassian’s side is aching in earnest now, and when Jyn lunges for him, he doesn’t quite move fast enough to keep her hand from closing on his wrist. 

But she’s tired, too; she tries to repeat her earlier trick, flipping him over her hip, but he resists enough that instead they go down in an untidy heap. Cassian twists, groping for a hold on her other arm. She’s faster than he is, but if he can get a solid grip he’s got her beat for muscle mass. If he can just--

She slips out of his grasp, her fingers still tight on his wrist. Cassian reaches after her, and realizes too late that it’s just the opening she needs. 

He ends up on his stomach, one arm pinned at the small of his back and the other beneath one of Jyn’s knees as she straddles his waist. Her breath puffs hot against the back of his neck. “That’s game.”

Cassian twists his arm, trying to pull free, but he just doesn’t have the leverage. After a moment, he gives in to the inevitable, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the mat.

“Say it,” she says, and he can hear the grin in her voice. 

No point in beating around the bush, even if it wounds his pride a bit. “You win.”

She laughs. The sound cuts right through his fading adrenaline. He’s suddenly very aware of her skin touching his, the weight and heat of her thighs on either side of his waist. 

And of how quiet the crowd has gotten. 

He coughs and wiggles his arm. “Uh, Jyn?” 

She takes in a sharp breath. “Right, sorry.” She lets go and clambers off of him. Cassian rolls over; Jyn turns away, reaching up to smooth her hair back into its usual bun, but he still catches a glimpse of decidedly flushed cheeks. 

It could be exertion, he supposes. But he kind of suspects not. 

“That was quite the show, Andor,” Wedge says cheerfully, crossing onto the mat to offer him a hand. “Even if you did lose me a hundred credits.”

Cassian accepts the hand and gets to his feet, wincing. His side is definitely going to make him regret this in the morning. 

Wedge glances back and forth between them. “So,” he says after a moment. “When’s the rematch?”

“Uh,” Cassian says, “I’m not sure…”

“I’m in,” Jyn interrupts, turning back. Her cheeks are still a little pink. She grins at Cassian. “Unless you’re too afraid to get beaten again.”

He shakes his head, even as a smile creeps onto his face. “You’re on.”

\--

That night, a chime at his door pulls him out of his perusal of another in his endless stack  of reports. He stands up, wincing at the soreness in his gut, and goes to answer it. 

“So, about that rematch,” Jyn says without preamble, as soon as the door hisses open between them. 

Cassian blinks. “Yes?”

“I was thinking,” she continues, a little hesitantly, “that maybe it would be better if it were more… private this time.” She looks up at him, and the heat in her gaze takes his breath away. 

He nods, and steps aside. 

Neither of them remember later who won the rematch. Falling asleep beside her in the dark, Cassian’s privately pretty sure that it’s both of them. 


End file.
